THE SWEDE'S TELEGRAM
As soon as the shadows hid the young man's retreating form from the
Swede's watchful eye, that individual quickened his pace and presently
broke into a run. Circling round a few blocks and regaining the main
street a little below the hotel, he entered the telegraph office.
There his haste seemed to leave him. He stood watching the clerk a few
minutes, but the latter paid no attention to him.
"Hullo!" he said at last.
"Hallo, yourself!" said the boy, without looking up or taking his hand
from the steadily clicking instrument.
"Say, I lak it you send me somet'ing by telegraph."
"All right. Hold on a minute," and the instrument clicked on.
After a little the Swede grew impatient. He scratched his pale gold
head and shuffled his feet.
"Say, I lak it you send me a little somet'ing yet." He reached out and
touched the boy on the shoulder.
"Keep out of here. I'll send your message when I'm through with this,"
and the instrument clicked on. Then the Swede resigned himself,
watching sullenly.
"Everybody has to take his turn," said the boy at last. "You can't cut
in like that." The boy was newly promoted and felt his importance. He
took the soiled scrap of paper held out to him. It was written over
in a clear, bold hand. "This isn't signed. Who sends this?"
"You make it yust lak it iss. I send dot."
"Well, sign it." He pushed a pen toward him, and the Swede took it in
clumsy fingers and wrote laboriously, "Nels Nelson."
"You didn't write this message?"
"No. I vork by de hotel, und I get a man write it."
"It isn't dated. Been carrying it around in your pocket a good while I
guess. Better date it."
"Date it?"
"Yes. Put down the time you send, you know."
"Oh, dat's not'ing. He know putty goot when he get it."
"Very well. 'To Mr. John Thomas,--State Street, Chicago. Job's ready.
Come along.' Who's job is it? Yours?"
"No. It's hees yob yet. You mak it go to-night, all right. Goot night.
I pay it now, yas. Vell, goot night."
He paid the boy and slipped out into the shadows of the street, and
again making the detour so that he came to the hotel from the rear, he
passed the stables, and before climbing to his cupboard of a room at
the top of the building, he stepped round to the side and looked in at
the dining room windows, and there he saw the young man seated at
supper.
"All right," he said softly.
The omnibus sent regularly by the hotel management brought only one
passenger from the early train next day. Times had been dull of late
and travel had greatly fallen off, as the proprietor complained. There
was nothing unusual about this passenger,--the ordinary traveling man,
representing a well-known New York dry-goods house.
Nels Nelson drove the omnibus. He had done so ever since Elder
Craigmile went to Scotland with his wife. The young man he had found
on the river bluff was pacing the hotel veranda as he drove up, and
Nels Nelson glanced at him, and into the eyes of the traveling man, as
he handed down the latter's heavy valise.
Standing at the desk, the newcomer chatted with the clerk as he wrote
his name under that of the last arrival the day before.
"Harry King," he read. "Came yesterday. Many stopping here now? Times
hard! I guess so! Nothing doing in my line. Nobody wants a thing.
Guess I'll leave the road and 'go west, young man,' as old Greeley
advises. What line is King in? Do' know? Is that him going into the
dining room? Guess I'll follow and fill up. Anything good to eat
here?"
In the dining room he indicated to the waiter by a nod of his head the
seat opposite Harry King, and immediately entered into a free and easy
conversation, giving him a history of his disappointments in the way
of trade, and reiterating his determination to "go west, young man."
He hardly glanced at Harry, but ate rapidly, stowing away all within
reach, until the meal was half through, then he looked up and asked
abruptly, "What line are you in, may I ask?"
"Certainly you may ask, but I can't tell you. I would be glad to do so
if I knew myself."
"Ever think of going west?"
"I've just come from there--or almost there--whereever it is."
"Stiles is my name--G. B. Stiles. Good name for a dry-goods salesman,
don't you think so? I know the styles all right, for men, and women
too. Like it out west?"
"Yes. Very well."
"Been there long?"
"Oh, two or three years."
"Had enough of it, likely?"
"Well, I can scarcely say that."
"Mean to stay east now?"
"I may. I'm not settled yet."
"Better take up my line. If I drop out, there'll be an opening with my
firm--good firm, too. Ward, Williams & Co., New York. Been in New
York, I suppose?"
"No, never."
"Well, better try it. I mean to 'go west, young man.' Know anybody
here? Ever live here?"
"Yes, when I was a boy."
"Come back to the boyhood home. We all do that, you know. There's
poetry in it--all do it. 'Old oaken bucket' and all that sort of
thing. I mean to do it myself yet,--back to old York state." G. B.
Stiles wiped his mouth vigorously and shoved back his chair. "Well,
see you again, I hope," he said, and walked off, picking his teeth
with a quill pick which he took from his vest pocket.
He walked slowly and meditatively through the office and out on the
sidewalk. Here he paused and glanced about, and seeing his companion
of the breakfast table was not in sight, he took his way around to the
stables. Nels Nelson was stooping in the stable yard, washing a
horse's legs. G. B. Stiles came and stood near, looking down on him,
and Nels straightened up and stood waiting, with the dripping rags in
his hand.
"Vell, I tol' you he coomin' back sometime. I vaiting long time all
ready, but yust lak I tol' you, he coom."
"I thought I told you not to sign that telegram. But it's no
matter,--didn't do any harm, I guess."
"Dot vas a fool, dot boy dere. He ask all tam, 'Vot for? Who write
dis? You not? Eh? Who sen' dis?' He make me put my name dere; den I
get out putty quvick or he ask yet vat iss it for a yob you got
somebody, eh?"
"Oh, well, we've got him now, and he don't seem to care to keep under
cover, either." G. B. Stiles seemed to address himself. "Too smart to
show a sign. See here, Nelson, are you ready to swear that he's the
man? Are you ready to swear to all you told me?"
"It is better you gif me a paper once, vit your name, dot you gif me
half dot money."
Nels Nelson stooped deliberately and went on washing the horse's legs.
A look of irritation swept over the placid face of G. B. Stiles, and
he slipped the toothpick back in his vest pocket and walked away.
"I say," called the Swede after him. "You gif me dot paper. Eh?"
"I can't stand talking to you here. You'll promise to swear to all you
told me when I was here the first time. If you do that, you are sure
of the money, and if you change it in the least, or show the least
sign of backing down, we neither of us get it. Understand?"
Again the Swede arose, and stood looking at him sullenly. "It iss ten
t'ousand tallers, und I get it half, eh?"
"Oh, you go to thunder!" The proprietor of the hotel came around the
corner of the stable, and G. B. Stiles addressed himself to him. "I'd
like the use of a horse to-day, and your man here, if I can get him.
I've got to make a trip to Rigg's Corners to sell some dry goods. Got
a good buggy?"
"Yes, and a horse you can drive yourself, if you like. Be gone all
day?"
"No, don't want to fool with a horse--may want to stay and send the
horse back--if I find a place where the grub is better than it is
here. See?"
"You'll be back after one meal at any place within a hundred miles of
here." The proprietor laughed.
"Might as well drive yourself. You won't want to send the horse back.
I'm short of drivers just now. Times are bad and travel light, so I
let one go."
"I'll take the Swede there."
"He's my station hand. Maybe Jake can drive you. Nels, where's Jake?"
"He's dere in the stable. Shake!" he shouted, without glancing up, and
Jake slouched out into the yard.
"Jake, here's a gentleman wants you to drive him out into the
country,--"
"I'll take the Swede. Jake can drive your station wagon for once."
G. B. Stiles laughed good-humoredly and returned to the piazza and sat
tilted back with his feet on the rail not far from Harry King, who was
intently reading the _New York Tribune_. For a while he eyed the young
man covertly, then dropped his feet to the floor and turned upon him
with a question on the political situation, and deliberately engaged
him in conversation, which Harry King entered into courteously yet
reluctantly. Evidently he was preoccupied with affairs of his own.
In the stable yard a discussion was going on. "Dot horse no goot in
buggy. Better you sell heem any vay. He yoomp by de cars all tam, und
he no goot by buggy."
"Well, you've got to take him by the buggy, if he is no good. I won't
let Jake drive him around the trains, and he won't let Jake go with
him out to Rigg's Corners, so you'll have to take the gray and the
buggy and go." The Swede began a sullen protest, but the proprietor
shouted back to him, "You'll do this or leave," and walked in.
Nels went then into the stable, smiling quietly. He was well satisfied
with the arrangement. "Shake, you put dot big horse by de buggy. No.
Tak' d'oder bridle. I don't drive heem mit ol' bridle; he yoomp too
quvick yet. All tam yoomping, dot horse."
Presently Nels drove round to the front of the hotel with the gray
horse and a high-top buggy. Harry King regarded him closely as he
passed, but Nels looked straight ahead. A boy came out carrying
Stiles' heavy valise.
"Put that in behind here," said Stiles, as he climbed in and seated
himself at Nels Nelson's side. The gray leaped forward on the instant
with so sudden a jump that he caught at his hat and missed it. Harry
King stepped down and picked it up.
"What ails your horse?" he asked, as he restored it to its owner.
"Oh, not'in'. He lak yoomp a little." And again the horse leaped
forward, taking them off at a frantic pace, the high-topped buggy
atilt as they turned the corner of the street into the country road.
Harry King returned to his seat. Surely it was the Scandinavian who
had walked down from the bluff with him the evening before. There was
no mistaking that soft, drawling voice.
"See here! You pull your beast down, I want to talk with you. Hi!
There goes my hat again. Can't you control him better than that? Let
me out." Nels pulled the animal down with a powerful arm, and he stood
quietly enough while G. B. Stiles climbed down and walked back for his
hat. "Look here! Can you manage the beast, or can't you?" he asked as
he stood beside the vehicle and wiped the dust from his soft black
felt with his sleeve. "If you can't, I'll walk."
"Oh, yas, I feex heem. I leek heem goot ven ve coom to place nobody
see me."
"I guess that's what ails him now. You've done that before."
"Yas, bot if you no lak I leek heem, ust you yoomp in und I lat heem
run goot for two, t'ree mile. Dot feex heem all right."
"I don't know about that. Sure you can hold him?"
"Yas, I hol' heem so goot he break hee's yaw off, if he don't stop ven
I tol' heem. Now, quvick. Whoa! Yoomp in."
G. B. Stiles scrambled in with unusual agility for him, and again they
were off, the gray taking them along with leaps and bounds, but the
road was smooth, and the dust laid by frequent showers was like velvet
under the horse's feet. Stiles drew himself up, clinging to the side
of the buggy and to his hat.
"How long will he keep this up?" he asked.
"Oh, he stop putty quvick. He lak it leetle run. T'ree, four mile he
run--das all." And the Swede was right. After a while the horse
settled down to a long, swinging trot. "Look at heem now. I make heem
go all tam lak dis. Ven I get my money I haf stable of my own und den
I buy heem. I know heem. I all tam tol' Meester Decker dot horse no
goot--I buy heem sheep. You go'n gif me dot money, eh?"
"I see. You're sharp, but you're asking too much. If it were not for
me, you wouldn't get a cent, or me either. See? I've spent a thousand
hunting that man up, and you haven't spent a cent. All you've done is
to stick here at the hotel and watch. I've been all over the country.
Even went to Europe and down in Mexico--everywhere. You haven't really
earned a cent of it."
"Vat for you goin' all offer de vorld? Vat you got by dot? Spen'
money--dot vot you got. Me, I stay here. I fin' heem; you not got heem
all offer de vorld. I tol' you, of a man he keel somebody, he run vay,
bot he goin' coom back where he done it. He not know it vot for he do
it, bot he do it all right."
"Look here, Nelson; it's outrageous! You can't lay claim to that
money. I told you if he was found and you were willing to give in your
evidence just as you gave it to me that day, I'd give you your fair
share of the reward, as you asked for it, but I never gave you any
reason to think you were to take half. I've spent all the money
working up this matter, and if I were to go back now and do nothing,
as I'm half a mind to do, you'd never get a cent of it. There's no
proof that he's the man."
"You no need spen' dot money."
"Can't I get reason into your head? When I set out to get hold of a
criminal, do you think I sit down in one place and wait? You didn't
find him; he came here, and it's only by an accident you have him, and
he may clear out yet, and neither of us be the better off because of
your pig-headedness. Here, drive into that grove and tie your horse a
minute and we'll come to an understanding. I can't write you out a
paper while we're moving along like this."
Then Nels turned into the grove and took the horse from the shafts and
tied him some distance away, while G. B. Stiles took writing materials
from his valise, and, sitting in the buggy, made a show of drawing up
a legal paper.
"I'm going to draw you up a paper as you asked me to. Now how do you
know you have the man?"
"It iss ten t'ousand tallers. You make me out dot paper you gif me
half yet."
"Damn it! You answer my question. I can't make this out unless I know
you're going to come up to the scratch." He made a show of writing,
and talked at the same time. "I, G. B. Stiles, detective, in the
employ of Peter Craigmile, of the town of Leauvite, for the capture of
the murderer of his son, Peter Craigmile, Jr., do hereby promise one
Nels Nelson, Swede,--in the employ of Mr Decker, hotel proprietor, as
stable man,--for services rendered in the identification of said
criminal at such time as he should be found,----Now, what service have
you rendered? How much money have you spent in the search?"
"Not'ing. I got heem."
"Nothing. That's just it."
"I got heem."
"No, you haven't got him, and you can't get him without me. Don't you
think it. I am the one to get him. You have no warrant and no license.
I'm the one to put in the claim and get the reward for you, and you'll
have to take what I choose to give, and no more. By rights you would
only have your fee as witness, and that's all. That's all the state
gives. Whatever else you get is by my kindness in sharing with you.
Hear?"
A dangerous light gleamed in the Swede's eyes, and Stiles, by a slight
disarrangement of his coat in the search for his handkerchief,
displayed a revolver in his hip pocket. Nels' eyes shifted, and he
looked away.
"You'd better quit this damned nonsense and say what you'll take and
what you'll swear to."
"I'll take half dot money," said Nels, softly and stubbornly.
"I'll take out all I've spent on this case before we divide it in any
way, shape, or manner." Stiles figured a moment on the margin of his
paper. "Now, what are you going to swear to? You needn't shift round.
You'll tell me here just what you're prepared to give in as evidence
before I put down a single figure to your name on this paper. See?"
"I done tol' you all dot in Chicago dot time."
"Very well. You'll give that in as evidence, every word of it, and
swear to it?"
"Yas."
"I don't more than half believe this is the man. You know it's life
imprisonment for him if it's proved on him, and you'd better be sure
you have the right one. I'm in for justice, and you're in for the
money, that's plain."
"Yas, I tank you lak it money, too."
"I'll not put him in irons to-night unless you give me some better
reason for your assertion. Why is he the man?"
"I seen heem dot tam, I know. He got it mark on hees head vere de blud
run dot tam, yust de sam, all right. I know heem. He speek lak heem.
He move hees arm lak heem. Yas, I know putty good."
"You're sure you remember everything he said--all you told me?"
"Oh, yas. I write it here," and he drew a small book from his pocket,
very worn and soiled. "All iss here writed."
"Let's see it." With a smile the Swede put it in Stiles' hand. He
regarded it in a puzzled way.
"What's this?" He handed the book back contemptuously. "You'll never
be able to make that out,--all dirty and--"
"Yas, I read heem, you not,--dot's Swedish."
"Very well. Perhaps you know what you're about," and the discussion
went on, until at last G. B. Stiles, partly by intimidation, partly by
assumption of being able to get on without his services, persuaded
Nels to modify his demands and accept three thousand for his evidence.
Then the gray was put in the shafts again, and they drove to the town
quietly, as if they had been to Rigg's Corners and back.